


A Dream of Home

by thesearchforbluejello



Series: That Would Be Enough [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Chakotay has a really bad day, Episode: s07e25 Endgame (Star Trek: Voyager), F/M, Sort Of, but so does Janeway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-09 07:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12883080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesearchforbluejello/pseuds/thesearchforbluejello
Summary: "He'll be damned if he doesn't know this is selfish on some level, because this is her and this is him and this is them and there was never a chance in hell that he'd be willing to let her go without a fight."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to angrywarrior69 for the beta!

It's too good to be true. She knows that's what they're all thinking; they've been fooled and disappointed too many times before. But hope is infectious, pushing doubt aside, and the whole crew is buzzing with it. 

They're standing in astrometrics the first time she feels it. A deep and unsettling suspicion twisting in her gut. Seven says something she doesn't catch. Kathryn looks around the room with as much subtlety as she can manage around these people who know her so well. Her eyes land on the admiral, who's answering Seven, both of them staring intently at the map displayed on the screen. Kathryn feels a tingle that starts in her hands, working its way into her chest and up into her head. It feels like a transport, but she knows she's standing in astrometrics. Caffeine, she thinks. Too much caffeine. She crosses her arms, shifting on her feet, trying to shake the feeling. 

She could swear she hears Chakotay's voice.

But he's standing next to her, an arm's length away here in astrometrics, his eyes fixed on the screen as Seven and the admiral speak. Kathryn expects some kind of response when she looks at him-- that he'll know that she's feeling off. He always does. But he doesn't even spare her a glance.

She turns her eyes back to the screen, back to the dream of Earth that might just become a reality.


	2. Chapter 2

Chakotay leaves the turbolift at a dead run. He makes it to the transporter room just in time to see her materialize on the pad. Horror and fear and dread coalesce into a solid mass in his chest, threatening to choke him. Her pulse is weak and frantic beneath his finger tips as he drops to his knees beside her; her skin is cool beneath his hand on her throat. Tom is beside them in a second, flipping open a tricorder. 

"Kathryn," Chakotay says, trying to elicit any kind of response indicating that she's heard him. She doesn't stir. Her legs are tucked at an odd angle, her shoulders angled downwards and her temple resting against the floor like she'd fallen and been left. There's a recent bruise blooming over her cheekbone in a riot of red and powder blue. Blood is dried on her nose and over her lips, but there's no sign of bruising on her nose or beneath her eyes, which increases the worry in Chakotay's chest like a tightening vice. He turns her head towards him, looking for anything that might explain.

The answer is obvious. A small star of metal sits on her temple. The skin around it is mottled violet, an outline of dried blood tracing the edges of each point. "What the fuck is that," Tom says, the words hissed quietly in shock.

Chakotay turns to the crewman manning the transporter station. "Beam us to sickbay, immediately." As the tingle of the transporter envelops them, Chakotay thinks that he knew her rescue had been too easy. Far too easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let Tom say fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

"Commander, stand back," the Doctor snaps. Chakotay takes a step backwards that feels more like a stumble. 

"I don't even understand some of these readings," Tom says. The Doctor stands beside him, tapping readouts on the screen with impatient fingers. His brow furrows.

"She's going into neural shock. Mr. Paris..." Tom is already moving, and the two of them are a flurry of activity that Chakotay doesn't try to follow. His eyes are locked on Kathryn's face, pale and bruised and bloody. Her uniform is filthy and torn on one arm. They should've known she wouldn't go quietly.

"She's stabilizing," Tom says after an eternity. Chakotay draws in a breath he's been holding, the taste of recycled air a brief shock to his senses.

Chakotay taps his com badge. "Chakotay to Lieutenant Torres."

"Torres here."

"Report to sickbay immediately."

He expects her to ask. Instead, all she says is, "On my way." He figures it doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together and know something's happened to the captain, and B'Elanna is, after all, a genius.

She enters sickbay with a tricorder in hand, her eyes finding the captain immediately. "What's happening?"

"You tell us," Tom says. "She has some kind of... device attached to her temple." 

B'Elanna begins scanning it as the Doctor speaks. "She went into neural shock almost as soon as she was transported in here, but we managed to stabilize her. I've got scans running, but don't have anything conclusive yet."

"It's definitely Borg technology," she says. "I'm getting readings almost like a neural transceiver." She meets Chakotay's eyes in alarm. He looks calm and collected, seeming for all the world like he's got the situation under control, but years of friendship let her see right through him. He's scared. Overwhelmed. She can see it in his eyes.

"She's connected to the collective?" Tom asks.

"I don't know. There are differences between any of the neural transceivers we've seen and... whatever this is. I could really use Seven's help," she admits.

"Will you be able to work on this in astrometrics?" Chakotay says, finally snapping back to himself.

"I don't see why not."

"Good. Doctor, send any and all readings you get straight to them. Seven is restricted to astrometrics until we know if this device poses any danger to her," he tells B'Elanna. "This isn't to be discussed beyond the senior staff. I'll rearrange the duty roster and have any crew assigned to astrometrics today report somewhere else so you can work uninterrupted. There's certainly enough to be done on this ship right now. I'll be on the bridge."

He casts one last look over his shoulder at the captain as the doors slide shut. Tom and B'Elanna exchange a look that the Doctor can't quite read.

***

"Mr. Tuvok, my office," Chakotay says as soon as he's stepped through the doors. He can feel Harry's eyes on them, tracing their movements as an ensign takes Tuvok's place at tactical and the doors slide closed behind them.

"I take it, then, that all is not well," Tuvok says. Chakotay bites back a snarky retort. He's been spending too much time around Tom and B'Elanna, he thinks detachedly.

"No, it's not." He recounts the events that have just transpired. "She's stable for now. But we need to act, and fast. I'm rearranging the duty roster to keep astrometrics clear for Seven and B'Elanna to work. I need you to organize repair crews." Tuvok rests his elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples his fingers. "What?"

"I am wary."

"Me too." He waits for Tuvok to continue.

"This entire operation went far too well. We met minimal resistance from the Borg, sustained minimal damage, and managed to escape their pursuit. It seems, as you say, 'too easy'."

"I know."

"It seems to me that this was intentional."

"It does look that way. I just hope we can get some kind of handle on this situation before the Borg play their hand."


	4. Chapter 4

"The Doctor to Commander Chakotay." Chakotay jumps at the sound of the Doctor's voice coming unexpectedly from the com.

"Doctor, do you have news?"

"Yes. Please meet us in astrometrics."

"Understood. Tuvok, you have the bridge," he says as he leaves. Tuvok nods his assent.

The Doctor, Seven, and B'Elanna are standing around a readout when he arrives. "How is she?"

"Stable," the Doctor says. "Tom is with her. Should the need arise, he can transfer me back to sickbay immediately." He looks sidelong at B'Elanna.

"Chakotay, we've got more of a problem than we thought," B'Elanna says, casting a frustrated look over at the hologram.

"I'd say we've already got a pretty major problem."

"Yes, but have a look at this." She motions to the screen and steps aside so he can get a better look.

"What am I looking at?"

"These are the captain's memory engrams," the Doctor says. "The human brain is constantly sifting through information, creating new memories. Not only is the captain's brain currently flooded with neurotransmitters, she's showing levels of brain activity akin with what we'd see in a patient who was awake and lucid, going about their day as normal." He points to another part of the screen. "She's creating new engrams. She's not awake, but she's experiencing something. We can see signs of sensation; though she's not moving, her nervous system is reacting to stimuli."

"As Lieutenant Torres found earlier," Seven says, "this technology is similar to that of a neural transmitter."

"Does it pose any danger to you?"

"It doesn't seem so. I have never seen anything quite like this, but I believe we could remove it, if we had the right technology."

"Which we would need to steal from a Borg cube, I'm guessing." 

Seven arches an eyebrow in surprise. "Yes."

"That's their gambit," B'Elanna says in realization.

Chakotay nods. "We've done it before. The Queen must assume we'll do it again."

"Such an action would be inadvisable."

"You don't have to tell me that," he says, a little harsher than he intended. "We can't shut it off, at least?" he asks, more mildly.

"No."

"If we don't remove it, she'll die," B'Elanna points out with an irritated glance at Seven.

"I know," Chakotay says. "How much time do we have, Doctor?"

"It's hard to say. A day, maybe two at most. The level of neurotransmitters we're dealing with here is dangerous enough on its own. Enormous stress is being placed not just on her brain, but on her nervous system as well. We've had minimal success managing any of it."

Chakotay tugs on his ear. "I have an idea. But you're really not going to like it."

"I don't like the sound of it already," B'Elanna says.

"Follow my reasoning. The captain hasn't been assimilated. This device is foreign to her body and her mind. She isn't reliant upon it. If her body was made aware of its presence, could it reject it?"

The Doctor's brow furrows. "I suppose it's possible. The presence of new engrams could be interpreted as suggesting a state of consciousness indicative of a complete lack of awareness that she's experiencing anything out of the usual. We haven't seen any indication of pain or strong discomfort that might point towards resistance."

"Drones are not typically capable of disconnecting from the collective at will," Seven says.

"Yes," B'Elanna agrees, "but they wouldn't usually want to, would they? They wouldn't know that they'd want to. And as we've already established, this isn't actually a neural transmitter. If we could make her aware that whatever she's experiencing isn't real, maybe that would be enough for her body to neutralize its affects."

"Even if that were to be successful, which seems highly unlikely, we're still left with the issue of trying to remove it without killing her," the Doctor says.

"As the commander has pointed out, the captain's body is not reliant upon the device. If we can 'switch it off,' you should be able to remove it by normal surgical means without causing any lasting damage."

The Doctor nods. "That's not entirely without reason," he grudgingly admits. "But the problem remains, how do we convince her that whatever she's experiencing isn't reality?"

"That's where my idea comes into play," Chakotay says.

"I really hope you're not going where I think you're going with this," B'Elanna snaps.

"If I know it's not reality, maybe I can convince her."

"Chakotay..."

"No, B'Elanna, hear me out. If it's an unreality, there should things that give it away, even if she can't see them. I just have to look for them, remind myself, and convince her." If she'll believe anyone, she'll believe me, he wants to say, but doesn't. The look on B'Elanna's face softens a bit from the anger she'd worn just a moment ago, and he knows that she understands the statement as if he'd said it aloud.

"That's a big if."

"You say this as though it would be simple," Seven says.

"We don't know what she's actually experiencing," the Doctor agrees. "It could be incredibly personal. Or entirely nonsensical. You have no idea what you'd be walking into."

"I know she'd do it for me," Chakotay says, his tone brooking no argument. The Doctor sighs. "Would it even be possible?" 

"I believe I can construct a similar device from our stock of salvaged components," Seven says. "It could communicate with the device on the captain, receiving its signal only from that device and relaying it into your brain. I can include a failsafe that could potentially allow us to disconnect you if the need should arise. I have no way of knowing if it would work without seeing how the two devices will interact. Either way, it would still pose the same dangers as the other implant. The strain on your nervous system and brain would be great."

"How much time would I have?"

"More time than the Captain, at any rate," the Doctor says, regret in his voice. "Even if the strain is just as great as the first device, she has been exposed to it longer, and it'll take time for Seven to construct this other device."

"It will take several hours at least," she affirms.

"Are we sure this is the only course to take?" B'Elanna says. "This is an awful great risk to take when we're not even sure it'll be successful even if we can manage to pull it off."

"What choice are we left? I won't take this ship straight back to the Borg, not when the Queen is waiting in her trap like a spider waiting for a fly. We wouldn't stand a chance, even knowing attack was coming. I want the two of you to get to work on the device immediately." B'Elanna opens her mouth to argue, but Chakotay cuts her off. "That's an order. Get to it."


	5. Chapter 5

A padd sits on the desk in her ready room, the plans for the ablative armor displayed on the screen. To hell with the Temporal Prime Directive if it meant getting them home. But it still just does not sit quite right with her. Her mug of coffee is hot in her hands, warming her fingers wrapped around it. She stares at the padd, not looking at the schematics. The armor would protect Voyager, certainly. But there's a metaphor for isolation somewhere in there that hits too close for comfort. She knows metaphors are seldom so apt outside of literature, and it sets her on edge. She takes a sip of her coffee. It's unusually bitter.

She still hasn't shaken the odd feeling of unease she's had since astrometrics this morning. Surely this wasn't right. Seven years of fighting for their lives in the Delta Quadrant, doing what good they can along the way, seizing every viable opportunity to shave a few years off the journey as they arise. And then out of the blue, on a day like any other uneventful day, lacking any sort of life-threatening madness, the Admiral appears like the deus ex machina of Ancient Greek tragedy. Voyager's uncanny luck had kept her from destruction more than once over the years, but this was another matter altogether. 

She takes another sip of her coffee. It's oddly sweet.

Dread pools cold in her gut. Something is wrong. She's sure of it. There's an inexplicable, rising panic in her chest.

***

Chakotay is walking through the halls with the Doctor when Tom's voice comes through the com. "Paris to the Doctor! We need you in sickbay immediately."

"On my way." It's an odd stroke of luck Chakotay is infinitely grateful for that they happen to be down the hall.

They enter sickbay at a run as Tom injects a hypospray into the Captain's neck. "She's destabilizing." The Doctor turns to the console. "The neuro-inhibitors are having little effect."

"These reading are strange. It looks almost like... panic. It's like her body has gone into a fight or flight response."

"Do you think she's aware of what's happened?" Chakotay asks, recalling what the Doctor had said about indications of Kathryn resisting the implant.

"There's just no way to be sure."

Tom and the Doctor confer over the console. Chakotay steps forward and puts his hand over Kathryn's. "I think you know what's happening," he says softly. "Just fight it. Just hang in there and keep fighting it and we'll help you beat it. I'm with you."

***  
Chakotay always seems to arrive at the right time. Their banter about Crewman Chell's terrible puns has set her more at ease, relieving some of her apprehension.

"Feel like having lunch?" she offers.

"I'd love to, but I've already made plans. Rain check?"

"Absolutely," she says, but the word feels hollow, even if it sounds as though she means it. He smiles and leaves, and the room is quiet except for the dull hum of Voyager's engines.


	6. Chapter 6

"It is illogical," Tuvok says, "to risk the life of the first officer to save the captain." Chakotay knew Tuvok would not be particularly receptive to his plan, but he hadn't expected him to come out of the gate with such a swing. 

"How is it any different than the rescue missions she's lead for me, or any member of the crew?" he says, trying to bite back his irritation.

"Every rescue mission to save a crew member, even crew members to whom the captain has grown very close, is inherently different than any mission concerning you. The same distinction applies in the reverse, I am certain." There is a list of things Chakotay would rather be discussing at this moment, and it contains just about every other topic of conversation. Tuvok either doesn't sense his discomfort, or opts to ignore it completely. Chakotay strongly suspects it's the latter. "I am concerned, as your chief of security, that your desire to save the captain is interfering with your judgement of this plan's extremely high risks."

"We can't do nothing," he begins, struggling to maintain his calm. "Morally, I can't allow myself to sit idly by, not while she's in sickbay..." dying, he's going to say, but the word won't come out. "And I can't allow the crew to see us let her go, not without a fight. The detriment to morale would be staggering. Because it's what we'd do for any of them. I'd do this for any of them."

Tuvok arches an eyebrow. "Would you? I believe you are not being honest with yourself about your motivations, Commander."

"You don't think I understand what's at stake? We ask this crew to put their lives at risk every day. Sometimes it's unintentional-- attacks we don't expect, hazards we don't foresee; the Delta Quadrant is full of nasty surprises. But sometimes we send them on away missions that we know are dangerous, that we know may end in disaster. Because sometimes we have to take risks for the well-being of this entire ship. We have to show that we're willing to take the same risks, that we're all part of the same crew, no matter what rank we occupy. That is the very basis of the morale of this crew: trust."

"Starfleet policy would see it differently."

"To hell with Starfleet!"

"There are redundancies in place; even among a crew so small and without the ability to incorporate new personnel, we can, hypothetically, replace any position, vacated for any reason."

"First of all, there isn't a single person on this ship who can be replaced. Their duties performed by another crewman, perhaps, but not as an individual. And besides, if you're so worried about that, the command structure has the same redundancies in place. Even if this were to go disastrously wrong, you would assume command, and the other senior officers would adjust to new roles."

"And do you believe that I would be a fitting captain for this crew, given how this conversation has gone? It would seem apparent that much of the captain's success in leadership has been founded on bolstering the crew's morale, even in the hardest of situations, and she has had remarkable success. Do you believe that I am capable of maintaining the crew's morale, of making decisions that will cater to the crew's emotions, benefitting them in the long run even at the cost of what course logic would dictate?"

Chakotay opens his mouth to reply, but immediately realizes that Tuvok has laid a trap in the argument so subtle he hadn't even had a chance of avoiding it. He's talked himself into a circle.

Tuvok is fundamentally incapable of fulfilling the requirements Chakotay has laid out, which he's argued are the most basic necessities for Voyager's crew. Should both Chakotay and Kathryn die, or at the very least be unable to perform their leadership responsibilities, Voyager would be lacking the morale in the high command that they rely so heavily upon.

"Sometimes, there is no good option," Chakotay says. "You have to choose between two undesirable choices. If the captain and I were both to die... Every time the crew thinks of us, they will know what I tried to do. If I don't do this, and she dies, every time they walk past me in the hallway they will see me as the man who didn't try to save their captain. Even if you assume command, and you yourself cannot support the morale of the crew, they will do it for themselves. Because my actions will be maintaining a precedent: we do not abandon each other. The crew mutinied against you when Kathryn and I were left behind. Because not taking a risk to save us was more undesirable to them than the knowledge that it could turn out badly. Do you see where I'm going with this? I have faith in your ability to lead this crew, Tuvok, if the worst should happen. The crew will support you, and you'll support them."

"I understand, and I thank you for your confidence in me. But I am still not sure this is a wise decision."

"Wise, no, it's not wise. But it's the only chance she's got."


	7. Chapter 7

He's gotten everything as organized as possible for Tuvok and spent the past two hours meditating in his quarters when his com badge startles him. "Seven of Nine to Commander Chakotay."

"Go ahead."

"I believe we're ready, Commander. Please report to sickbay." 

Apprehension coils in his gut. "I'm on my way."

She looks worse, somehow, when he stands over her biobed. The blood has been cleared from her face, but she looks ashen and lifeless in the stark light of sickbay. The Doctor is conferring with Seven and B'Elanna, giving Chakotay half a moment to steel himself against the reality of this potentially disastrous plan. Tuvok will be fine, he knows, regardless of the outcome. Voyager will be fine. He believes every word he said to Tuvok just a few hours ago; the crew has to trust each other, has to believe in the strength of that bond. 

But he'll be damned if he doesn't know this is selfish on some level, because this is her and this is him and this is them and there was never a chance in hell that he'd be willing to let her go without a fight. His desire to protect her has always been stronger than any instinct of self-preservation. The Doctor's words still echo in his mind, feeding the anxiety buzzing in his ears. "It could be intensely personal." It seems like a foolish thing to worry about when her life is hanging in the balance, but it's the worry he keeps coming back to. He knows her better than anyone, except perhaps Tuvok, but there's so much she keeps hidden behind her wall of professional captaincy. He has his own secrets, of course, but he's not sure there's anything he would be able to resist telling her if she asked him to. In this, they're very different.

B'Elanna comes to stand beside him. "Promise me that if you can't save her, you'll try to save yourself."

He looks at her in surprise. "If it were Tom," he says quietly, "would you give up before you were out of time." It's not a question.

She squeezes his arm. "Please be careful. You've got to stick around long enough to spoil your niece," she says with a strained smile. He just smiles and covers her hand with his.

"Commander, we don't have a lot of time," the Doctor interrupts. Chakotay sighs and joins him at the biobed next to Kathryn's. He sits as the Doctor presses a cortical monitor to his skin. "We'll be monitoring you the whole time, but there's no certainty that we will be able to disengage you if something goes wrong."

"Don't attempt to unless there is no other option and my life is in immediate danger, do you understand?"

The Doctor sighs dramatically. "I'd say this entire plan is putting your life in immediate danger, but don't mind me."

Chakotay can picture Kathryn rolling her eyes in exasperation and the image constricts his chest. "Just do it," he snaps, lying back on the bed. 

"Good luck," Tom says.

The Doctor presses the device to Chakotay's temple. He winces at the sharp pain of its contact and the sickbay lights dissolve into black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, kids, because this ride is about to get wilder!


	8. Chapter 8

When he wakes, he's in a meadow. He turns his head against the ground. Thin, amber stalks of grass, with soft, bushy, seed-bearing tops bathed in muted gold by a late afternoon sun. It looks almost like New Earth, he thinks. Beautiful, made gentle by the light. His head aches and the incongruity of the scene begins to nag somewhere in his mind. 

And then he remembers. Hard metal and acrid smoke, the sound of the klaxons, and the darkness of the bridge as power began to fail, as Voyager began to fail. He sits up, awkwardly, disoriented by the change in equilibrium. Harry rushes over, seeing his commander awake. "Report," Chakotay snaps. 

"We made it. We're short on supplies, but we made it."

He looks around the gathered crew, tending to the injured, taking stock of their surroundings and supplies, faces of shock and confusion. He remembers trying to organize the evacuation as Tuvok and B'Elanna worked to restore power in engineering. Kathryn had stayed on the bridge to coordinate the efforts. Kathryn. "Where's the captain?"

Harry looks at him with an expression of unguarded, gut-wrenching grief. "She went down with her ship." 

Chakotay lies back, the realization sapping the adrenaline from his body. She went down with her ship. Tom is speaking softly nearby. Hushed, hurried words. The sky is lavender and blue, fading to gold on the horizon. The serenity of the scene is wholly incongruous with the feeling that's rooted itself in his chest, evil and twisting and tearing all feeling out of him like strips of wallpaper from a wall. A moon hangs large in the gathering twilight, all shadows and craters and ranges of mountains just discernible from the surface of whatever planet this is.

The moon.

He draws in a breath to speak, but doesn't get the chance.

***

He hears his name through the dense fog cloying his mind. He knows that voice. He'd know her voice anywhere. 

"Kathryn?" Her hand is on his chest and he opens his eyes to see unconcealed worry written on her face.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah." She helps him sit up, kneeling beside him with her hand still on his back. He looks around, trying to quell the panic still burning in his throat. "Where are we?" The pressure of her hand is an anchor. 

The walls are smooth, polished stone, pale gray and veined with blue and green. One wall is inset with a metal door. The floor is darker, a dark jade that was maybe once as polished as the walls, but is now scuffed and worn. It's cold, a chill that's seeping into his bones from where he's been lying on the stone. He can see Kathryn shivering. 

"I'm not sure. The shuttle went down, and then I woke up here. They brought you in a little while ago."

"They?" She's kneeling too close to him, but he can't move away. He can't even tear his eyes away from her face. The feeling of waking up with her gone is too real, the memory too gripping.

"Whatever species runs this place. It seems like a base of some kind. Whoever they are, we haven't encountered them before."

He can't stand being this close to her anymore. "Help me up; I'm freezing," he says. She helps him to his feet and he catches her hands in his as she goes to pull away. "So are you," he says.

"I'm fine."

He brings his hands up toward his mouth to warm them, but his elbow twinges. He pulls up the sleeve of his uniform to reveal several small marks that look suspiciously like injection sites. Kathryn takes hold of his arm, inspecting them. "You don't remember what they did to you?" she asks.

"No. I don't even remember crashing the shuttle..." He thinks back. He doesn't remember the shuttle. He doesn't remember leaving Voyager. The last thing he remembers is sickbay. He draws in a sharp breath. "Kathryn..."

The door opens, and a species Chakotay has never seen before enters. Whatever thought had just occurred to him evaporates as he takes stock of the situation. There are four of them, one standing in front of the other three. Each of the three is armed with some sort of phaser rifle. Their bodies are concealed by armor made of metal and thick leather, or something akin to it. Metal helmets with inset eye pieces cover their faces. They're bipedal at least, and seem to have two eyes, a nose, and mouth where humanoid species do, judging by the design of the helmets, but when the one who seems to be the leader begins to speak, Chakotay knows they're not human. He and Kathryn have been stripped of their com badges and he's never heard a language like this before. It's hisses and grunts and sharp sounds; there's an obvious pattern, but he can't make heads or tails of it. Judging by Kathryn's face, she can't either.

She takes a step forward, placing herself slightly in front of him. "I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager," she says by way of greeting. "Whatever's happening here, I'm sure it's all just a misunderstanding."

The leader grabs her quicker than she or Chakotay can react, dragging her towards the door. She resists, and one of the other three slams the stock of their phaser rifle into her temple. She staggers from the blow, listing to one side as she struggles to stay standing on legs that no longer want to hold her weight. Chakotay lunges forward, but a rifle makes contact with his abdomen, knocking the breath out of him and sending him to one knee. The leader drags her through the door and it closes behind them, leaving Chakotay alone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Helen8462 asked for another chapter.

Voyager is screaming. The sound of rending bulkheads is deafening, but she's the only one left to hear it. The evacuation would have been hampered by the damage the ship had sustained, but surely everyone was gone by now. The thought of being alone momentarily carves a pain in her chest so great that she feels it through the haze of her other injuries. Rationally, she knows that this is the fulfillment of her duty to her crew, but the thought of dying alone, even with the company of her ship, which for so long has been no small part of their family, is suffocating in its finality. Fear claws at her, ice cold. She's crying, she knows. She tries to take a breath to calm herself, but there's too much blood in her lungs and she chokes. 

She thinks she hears someone yelling in the cacophony of Voyager's death. She closes her eyes. She doesn't want to hear his voice right now. The taste of blood and the smell of the bioneural gel packs burning is a terrible combination, she thinks detachedly. She's ready for death if it means relief from that smell.

And then she hears her name. It's harder to open her eyes than she expected, and when she does, Chakotay is kneeling next to her. She looks at him in confusion. "I came back for you," he says, like it's plain as day. She wants to say something, to yell at him for abandoning their crew, but there's too much blood in her chest. She tries to draw in a breath but it bubbles in her mouth, trailing onto her face. He's looking at the bulkhead that's come down on top of her, trying to figure out how to move it. She pushes at his arm, pushing through blinding pain, trying to tell him to leave. "I'm not leaving without you," he says. She pushes at him again, because she knows there's no point to him staying. Even if he can move the bulkhead, even if he can get her off the ship, she's going to die. The thought doesn't scare her half so much as knowing that he's throwing his life away for nothing. She grabs his arm, willing him to understand. 

He looks down at her and she knows he won't leave. It's written in the lines of stress around his mouth, on his brow, the darkness in his eyes. This is the shape of her fear.

There's a brief second of sound and heat as Voyager explodes, and then nothing.

***

She wakes on the floor of the cell, sucking in a breath of stale air tasting of stone. No caustic smell of burning gelpacks. No shriek of failing bulkheads. But the phantom taste of blood lingers, the pressure and pain in her chest. She panics, trying to sit up, but Chakotay's hand is on her chest, gently holding her down.

"It's okay; you're alright." She can feel her heart beating wildly against the steady pressure of his hand. She vaguely hears some kind of noise ringing in her ears. She pushes him away and staggers to her feet. He reaches out but she pushes him away again with shaking hands. "Kathryn," he snaps, just forcefully enough to bring her eyes back up to him, "are you alright?" She nods, not sure if she can speak. "What did they do to you?" He says it too softly, his eyes too gentle. 

She looks away, running a hand across her face. "How long was I gone?"

"An hour, maybe more. It's hard to tell. They brought you back a little while ago." Her head is aching like hell, and she absently rubs at her temple as she paces. He watches her as she crosses the cell, back and forth, noting how her hands still shake and her breathing is still erratic, despite her obvious efforts at control. "What did they do?" he asks again, more firmly, a veneer of Starfleet in his voice.

She knows what he is doing-- taking some of himself out of this situation, replacing his own concern with his duty as her XO, confronting her in a way her training can respond without any emotional confrontation. "I don't know. Took vials of blood," she gestures vaguely in the air, "injected me with... something. I don't know."

She knows what he wants to ask. What she's feeling, exactly, though he probably has a pretty good idea since she figures they've been injected with the same stuff. What she saw while she was being marched through the halls. What they said to her, if she could understand any of it. Mercifully, he can read her distress and lets her slowly sink to the floor in silence. She rests her head against the wall. She's suddenly exhausted, adrenaline sapping away and leaving behind a haze in her body and thoughts. 

"All the hallways look the same," she says eventually. "There's no definitive markings I could see anywhere. They didn't take me very far." There's a beat of silence. "Far enough that I couldn't get back there if I tried, though." She's shivering violently from the chill of the stone and the stress of their situation. Chakotay sits next to her, hoping to lend her some of his body heat, afraid of her going into shock, but she pushes herself farther away until there is more than an arm's length between them. They lapse into another silence that is only broken by the staccato sound of water dripping somewhere on the other side of the door. 

Kathryn dozes, on and off, jolting awake each time she begins to drift into a real sleep. Chakotay paces the cell, trying to recall anything he can about how they ended up there. He remembers dreaming about the field. That Kathryn was dead. He remembers the shades of lavender sky. Talking to Harry. Tom's voice nearby. Yes, Tom had said something. But not in the field, in sickbay.

He looks at Kathryn, asleep against the wall. There's an angry bruise on her face from the butt of the rifle, all powder blue and red. She's still, her hands in her lap, her head almost resting on her shoulder. He kneels beside her. "Kathryn." He shakes her gently. "Kathryn," he snaps, shaking her shoulder more insistently.

"Hm?"

"Wake up."

"What."

"You're not shivering."

"Because I'm not cold." The words are slurred and he's concerned not just about hypothermia but also about the blow to the head she's sustained. 

He sits beside her, wrapping an arm around her back and pulling her against his side. "You're very cold, actually."

She tilts her head back, looking at him like she's trying to focus. "I'm not sure if that was an insult or not."

He laughs. "It wasn't." She hums and closes her eyes. He's suddenly concerned about keeping her awake. "Hey," he says. "Keep those pretty eyes open."

She huffs a laugh. "Why is it that you flirt with me when everything's gone to hell?"

"I flirt with you all the time. You just don't pay attention."

"I can't afford to." He can feel her eyelashes against his neck when she blinks.

He stares at the wall opposite them, tracing the veins in the stone. There are little bits of rock scattered throughout, and his eyes find one that's almost perfectly round. He thinks of the moon in his dream, or hallucination, or whatever it was. The moon.

"Kathryn," he says.

"Yeah."

"Do you remember that distress call we got, from the Antrexan freighter?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember what happened after that?"

After a moment she says, "No." There's another pause and then, more lucidly, "No, I don't remember." She sits back slightly, his arm still around her. Her eyes are a harder, more focused blue than they were a moment ago. "What did happen after that?"

"It was a trap. Everyone was already dead, long before we got there. There were drones on board; it was a trap, and we walked right into it." She nods, vaguely recalling this. "The away team is okay," he says, because he knows that will be her first question. "The drones managed to separate you from the group. They took you." His voice almost cracks.

She notices, of course. Even if she can't afford to. "I bet Tuvok was pissed," she says with the hint of a smile, forcing a levity he can't deny.

He can't help but smirk. Tuvok had advised her against going with the away team in the first place, even to board the derelict, and seemingly deserted, ship. "Oh yes," he says.

"Then what happened? I don't remember."

"We rescued you. In a move that was a special kind of stupid, I have to say. But it worked."

"How'd we get here? I remember a shuttle, sort of." Her brow is furrowed. "I know that it happened. But I don't remember it, exactly."

He looks at her for a moment, not sure if she's already put the pieces together. "Kathryn, we're not really here."

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't real. We're in sickbay. On Voyager."

She looks at him as if she's suspicious. "No we're not."

"Yes, Kathryn, we are. The Borg put some kind of device on you. They let us rescue you, because we can't remove it."

"It's a trap."

"Yes."

She frowns. "So you're not really here?" She doesn't doubt that her mind could illustrate him in such minute detail, but he seems so real, so alive beside her.

"I am here. Seven made a second device so I could come get you out." She pulls a little farther away.

"Chakotay, you shouldn't risk..." she starts, sounding more like herself.

"Don't lecture me. I'm not an idiot, Kathryn, and neither are you. You know why I had to do this, and you know I considered every alternative and outcome before we did this."

She's silent for a moment, not breaking eye contact. "How do we..." She doesn't get a chance to finish the sentence. The door swings open and the guards rush in, grabbing ahold of them, pulling them away from one another. 

"Just trust me!" he shouts. Something makes contact with the base of his skull and he blacks out.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MiaCooper batted her eyelashes, so here's another chapter.

He wakes in his bed, Indiana sunlight streaming through the curtains, bathing the room in sunbeams and drifting dust motes. He squints against the light, rubbing his eyes. The last hazy memories of his dream are already dissolving out of reach as he stumbles groggily into the shower.

He walks into the kitchen to make himself breakfast, pausing at the photo on the wall. He loves seeing it every day, but she's particularly on his mind today, for some reason.

It's Molly's graduation from the Academy, and she's beaming a dimpled smile just like his own. He can never get over it; she's got his smile and his eyes, but her hair and her cheekbones are all Kathryn. She's standing sandwiched between them, with a good portion of the Voyager crew piled in around them, some still wearing the Starfleet uniform, like Kathryn, some, like Chakotay, having left it behind them. They hardly fit in the frame. The Doctor had taken the picture, jumping in just in time at the very edge. Beside him was Harry, laughing at the whole ordeal. Even Tuvok, beside Harry, had raised an eyebrow in concealed amusement. Seven was standing next to Kathryn, smiling proudly for the girl who'd grown up for all intents and purposes as a much younger sister. B'Elanna and Tom stood on Chakotay's other side, bursting with pride for their goddaughter. Miral stood between them, having managed to get back to Earth just in time to support the girl she'd grown up with, the two of them raising hell in the mess hall, chasing each other through the cargo bays, playing Indiana Jones holonovels with Tom, who'd always teased Molly that "Indy was named after the dog too."

Sam Wildman, Naomi, Icheb, Mike Ayala, and Tal Celes and Billy Telfer, who'd eventually gotten married, were piled in the back. Neelix was still in the Delta Quadrant, but since he and Molly had only ever spoken over subspace, his absence was filled with their conversation the day before. 

He's reaching in the refrigerator when someone knocks on the door. The house is old, and usually people knock more hesitantly, an action no one is accustomed to anymore. He figures it's someone he knows, but he wasn't expecting anyone. 

He opens the door. "Miral," he says in surprise. She's been crying, he realizes immediately. Her eyes are red and her face is set in something that's almost a grimace. 

"Uncle Tay," she says like a prelude, too quietly, the rest of her words evaporating into silence.

He knows. He doesn't feel any kind of reaction. He'd always known this could happen. He'd never lied and said he wanted Molly to join Starfleet. Neither had Kathryn. 

He'd always thought he'd feel it like a physical blow. 

He just feels hollow.

"Come in," he says to Miral. 

She sits in one of the kitchen chairs he made years ago, when they first moved into this house. Her hands are shaking. She looks like she wants to say something, but doesn't know what.

"How'd it happen?" he asks. His voice sounds like it belongs to someone else.

"There was an accident. Half the ship--- she ejected the warp core. She saved sixty three people from that crew, Uncle Tay. Sixty three people are alive because of her." Miral is sobbing; Chakotay holds her to his chest. "I called Aunt Katie. She's coming home. I didn't tell her. I couldn't let her find out when she's at work. I wanted you to hear it from me, not some stranger from Starfleet." He nods. 

He hears the door. He turns to see Kathryn standing just inside the kitchen threshold. She sees Miral, still crying. She looks at Chakotay and she sees the answer written on his face. Her expression of bewilderment dislodges the pieces of whatever had broken in him when he opened to door to Miral's tear-streaked face. He moves to stand in front of her, afraid to reach out. He can feel the tears on his face, cool in the morning air. Kathryn just looks at him like she doesn't believe any of it. "Molly?" she says, the name barely a breath. She knows, but asks anyway. Because she doesn't believe it. He nods. He manages to guide her to the floor as her knees buckle, holding her by the shoulders. Her eyes are fixed on the kitchen window. She shakes her head. 

"I'm sorry, love," he whispers. 

It's morning and the Indiana sky is powder blue, but Kathryn can see the moon through the window. She remembers, years ago, something Chakotay had told her. "No," she says. Chakotay wraps her in a hug. "No. It's not real."

"I'm sorry," he says, his breath hitching. 

"It's not real," she says into Chakotay's shoulder. "It's not real." Her chest aches and her vision is swimming with tears. "It's not real," she whispers and closes her eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that all of the dialogue in this chapter, with the exception of its final line, is taken from the episode Endgame. The writing credits, of course, go to those who penned that episode, and Paramount as the owner of the Trek franchise. That being said, the narration and last line of dialogue is all mine, because the Braga Brigade showed themselves to be rather undeserving of these characters. I mean no infringement upon their writing, because as displeased as I am with it, they undoubtedly put much hard work into it for us.

"I want to know why you didn't tell me about this," she says. The corridor is entirely the wrong place to have this conversation.

"Because I remember how stubborn and self-righteous I used to be. I figured you might try to do something stupid."

"We have an opportunity to deal a crippling blow to the Borg. It could save millions of lives."

"I didn't spend the last ten years looking for a way to get this crew home earlier, so you could throw it all away on some intergalactic goodwill mission." Something about this rings entirely wrong.

"Maybe we should go back to Sickbay."

"Why, so you can have me sedated?"

"So I can have the Doctor reconfirm your identity. I refuse to believe I'll ever become as cynical as you."

"Am I the only one experiencing deja vu here?"

She's pretty sure she knows where this is going, but she bites anyway. "What are you talking about?"

"Seven years ago you had the chance to use the Caretaker's array to get Voyager home. Instead, you destroyed it."

"I did what I knew was right," she says. It's still raw, seven years later. Chakotay has always stood by her when she's questioned herself, always kept her moral compass pointed north, always helped her believe that she had done, and was doing, the right thing.

"You chose to put the lives of strangers ahead of the lives of your crew. You can't make the same mistake again."

"You got Voyager home, which means I will too. If it takes a few more years then that's--"

“Seven of Nine is going to die,“ the Admiral interupts.

"What?" She can hear the disbelief in her own voice. It's a knife to the gut, quick and sharp and deeply damaging. Something about this really does feel like deja vu.

"Three years from now. She'll be injured on an away mission. She'll make it back to Voyager, and die in the arms of her husband."

"Husband?"

"Chakotay." If news of Seven's impending death felt like a knife, this feels like a blow to her entire being, chewing at the root of her beliefs. "He'll never be the same after Seven's death, and neither will you." She thinks of Chakotay, standing an arm's length away in astrometrics. His shallow smile as he turned down her offer for lunch. She thinks of bitter coffee. None of it sits quite right.

"If I know what's going to happen, I can avoid it," she says, but it lacks conviction even to her own ears. 

"Seven isn't the only one. Between this day and the day I got Voyager home, I lost twenty two crew members. And then of course there's Tuvok."

"What about him?" She knows the Admiral is just twisting the knife now, but she can't stop herself from asking. She wonders how she could ever end up like this. Is this how she'd become without Chakotay? She refuses to believe it.

"You're forgetting the Temporal Prime Directive, Captain."

"The hell with it," she snaps.

"Fine. Tuvok has a degenerative neurological condition that he hasn't told you about. There's a cure in the Alpha Quadrant, but if he doesn't get it in time... Even if you alter Voyager's route, limit your contact with alien species, you're going to lose people. But I'm offering you a chance to get all of them home safe and sound today. Are you really going to walk away from that?"

She looks away. She's going to lose Seven. And she's going to lose Chakotay. One of those things she may be powerless to stop. She might even be powerless to save Chakotay one day, a reality she has been living with for years. These are truths she knows. The universe is harsh.

But there are two things she believes. She believes that she will never be as hard as the Admiral. Not when she has spent so much time with this crew-- with Naomi's innocence and curiosity; Neelix's enthusiasm even in the most trying of times and tasks; Tuvok's unflinching loyalty through years of hardship; Harry's determination, always striving to better himself and those around him; Tom's ability to keep his levity even when everything had gone to hell; B'Elanna's honesty, even when the truth was hard for everyone to hear; the Doctor's passion in discovering himself and the world around him; Seven's drive to grow as an individual, even when the process is daunting and painful. Each member of the crew had taught her so much.

And Chakotay, whose belief in her was unwavering, who had been steadfast even in the times when she'd done nothing to uphold the trust he placed in her. He's always believed in her. She believes in him, too. 

Her instinct is telling her that something is wrong. She trusts Chakotay, she trusts her crew, and she trusts herself, because they do. Something is very wrong.

"Yes," she says. "I'm going to walk away from that. Because we're going to get home safe and sound tomorrow."

There's a sharp pain in the side of her head; she feels like she's falling and the corridor spirals into black.


	12. Chapter 12

Chakotay wakes to the screaming of a monitor. He blinks the haze away, rolling onto his side, towards Kathryn.

"Her heart's stopped again," Tom says. Chakotay can't see her breathing. 

"The device has deactivated," Seven says.

Kathryn draws in a shuddering breath. Chakotay lets out the breath he didn't know he's been holding; it sounds too much like a sob for his comfort. It's all hitting him at once. The last vestiges of fear still clutch his throat as the things he witnessed sift into place. He knows everything that Kathryn experienced while the devices were connected, and he's sure that she knows everything he experienced too. He knows what the Admiral said; the small part of his brain that's being fueled by adrenaline assumes the Doctor had tried to pull him out, that as soon as the second device's connection had waned, the narrative Kathryn's mind had already begun to construct resumed. 

Grief is washing over him in waves. He remembers being there while she died on Voyager. Waking up in a field and learning she was gone. Sitting with her in the freezing cell. 

And Molly. Molly, who never existed, but the pain of her loss cuts him to the core. She's like a dream; he doesn't know about her life-- he doesn't know when her birthday was, or remember her losing her first teeth, or the day she decided to enter the Academy. All he has is the emotion of loving her, and the memory of finding out that he's lost her. The emotion is real, and that memory is real, and he feels like it's corroding him from the inside out. 

Kathryn is awake, and she turns toward him on the bed, wincing in discomfort even as Tom tries to still her. She reaches out to Chakotay with one outstretched hand. He slips off his own bed, ignoring her hand and pulling her into a hug. She moves closer to him, one arm around his shoulders, the other in his hair. He buries his face in her shoulder as he cries. She rests her chin on his shoulder and closes her eyes. The door slides open, and then closed, and she knows they're alone, just for a moment.

Chakotay's shoulder are shaking with his grief. Kathryn knows he will have to come to terms with losing her, and that will take time. But now he's crying for Molly. Out of everything they saw, that was the only thing he truly believed. She felt his contentedness. Happiness. Pride. And she knows it's because that was what he wanted, more than anything. Family, and a life after Voyager. A life with her, an impossibility in their here and now. He felt Molly's loss as if it was real. As had she.

Her chest aches with Molly's loss, and the thought of losing Chakotay on top of it threatens to suffocate her, a wave roiling with fear and despair and utter desperation to hold onto him crashing down and trying to tow her under.

"You know I love you, right?" she whispers.

He nods against her shoulder. "I know," he chokes out. Because even if neither of them have said it aloud in seven years, it's one of the few things that hasn't been lost or irreparably damaged in Voyager's journey. They've said it a thousand ways, in glances and platonic touch, in a peace rose and a hundred quiet meals.

She rests her forehead on his shoulder. She feels weak and exhausted and just ill, her entire body aching. Her eyes burn with the tears she's trying, and failing, to hold back on reflex. There's a pain in her chest that she's not sure originates only from the physical damage this ordeal has done to her body. The sickbay lights feel like they're going to sear her brain, and there's a metallic taste in her mouth. So she sighs, relaxing in his hold, breathing him in, allowing them to grieve.

They'll get back to Earth tomorrow. She's already home today, and for a moment she ignores the traitorous little voice that calls her selfish, and she allows that to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of you who've read this through have enjoyed being part of the experience of my fist fic! The reviews I've recieved have been so encouraging, and I hope to be sharing much more with you all soon.
> 
> Much thanks is due once again to angrywarrior69 for the beta, and to helen8462 for being the most loyal reviewer I could have imagined, as well as to MiaCooper and devovere for sticking it through until I finished.

**Author's Note:**

> A review would mean the world to me! Please leave something you liked and something constructive that you think would be helpful for me to hear.


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